Like There Could be an Us
by cocobomber
Summary: A series of oneshots following a female Hawke and Anders during the moments we never see.
1. It Hurts to Watch

Lately I've been thinking about the "in between" moments that could have possibly occurred throughout the course of DA2. So I've decided to write a series of oneshots following my mage F!Hawke, Daria, and Anders. This particular one takes place between Act 1 and Act 2. I don't know about anyone else but I abuse the flirt options, so I imagine to my Hawke to be somewhat whore-ish, for lack of a better word.

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><p>It was expected that she would be a popular woman. With her full pink lips and dangerous sapphire eyes. With her hips that swayed like a pendulum. With her long black hair that blew perfectly in the wind. The new face of the Amell family definitely lived up to the rumors of being a beauty to make the gods jealous. It wasn't her looks alone that made her popularity rise. It was her wit, her charm. Anders damned it all. Every time they went out, someone somewhere would look at her marvelous curves and he'd feel that disgusted feeling in the pit of his stomach. And what was worse than the attention she attracted? Was that she enjoyed it. He felt his heart break as she flirted so shamelessly in front of him. "My, my…" He could hear her mumbled under her breath. His brown eyes followed the direction of her gaze. <em>Is... Is she serious? He's a bloody templar!<em> She was serious. She turned to the group and sly smile spreading across her face. "Meet at the Hanged Man later?" It was more of a statement, or order, than a question.

"Hawke, I'm not one to step in when it comes to your personal life, but no one knows you're a mage. I don't really think it's a smart thing to mess around with templar boy over there," everyone was taken back when Varric had been the one to stop Hawke. His arms folded across his chest and one of his brows arched so high, Anders thought a new creased formed on the dwarf's forehead. "We have a good thing, Hawke, don't mess it up by getting involved."

"It's not like I'm going to marry the man," she pouted. She began to walk towards the templar and everyone knew they had lost this battle. Varric and Fenris turned the other way. Varric had a look of disbelief then took out a small piece of paper from the breast of his coat and jotted something down. Fenris just shook his head, but glanced back from time to time to stare at her swaying hips.

He stood for a while as she drew farther and farther away. He felt empty. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, having to redo the ponytail as quickly as possible. "Hawke!" he yelled chasing after the mage. His hands were large compared to the size of her arms. He was strong compared to her delicate figure. The tugged at her shoulder forced her to stop, to face him. "Don't." He couldn't take it. Seeing her time and time again leave for _business_ she had to attend to elsewhere. Checking the books at the Blooming Rose and realizing her name was written far too many times. "Let's go." There was no protest.

They had reached his clinic in record time. It was strange to see no one there, usually it was bustling with refugees, but today it was closed. Once he let go of her arm, she sat on one of the cots. That sly smile of hers, staining her face. Her legs crossed, her back arched, her hands supported her weight behind her. They've played this game of cat and mouse before and she has never won. "Oh dear, has the hotheaded renegade finally given in?" She gave that certain look that made men weak. Dilated, bedroom eyes. Soft, pouting lips. Everything to make his heart stop beating. His brows furrowed. His jaw tensed. Any man could not lie and say he did not think about sex, especially any man that's met Hawke. And here she was, so ready. Anders took three deep breathes, hoping to stop the tremendous beating in his chest. "Hawke, stop it." He tore his eyes away; if there was any hope of keeping his composure it would not be as he stared and hungered for her. He had spent many nights wanting to hold her, to kiss her, to touch her; tonight would undoubtedly be no different.

She was mildly impressed by his poise. But above anything she was annoyed and confused. "So, I don't get to witness that 'electricity thing' Isabela spoke of? Such a shame," she made no effort to hide her comments. She stood quickly and made her way towards the exit.

"Hawke," he found himself calling out to her, spinning her around once again. His hands held her shoulders firmly. "I can't stand this. Please, stop it."  
>"Stop what?" Her gaze never wavers the way his does. She is stronger in ways he could never hope to be.<br>He can't bring himself to look at her straight away. "I—We can't have that kind of relationship. You are an important friend. What you are asking of me is madness. I can't give you anything you want… You're looking for something that isn't there!"  
>"Isn't there? Really? Then why did you stop me from leaving? You can't tell me, I'm the only one who feels anything!" She was different from the Daria Hawke he has come to know. She didn't have a silver tongue that can guide her out of any situation. She doesn't put on a smile and brave through the most terrible of circumstances. She is selfish and at her most vulnerable. He lets her go, arms falling back to his side; he fears he might hurt her. She opens her mouth again to spout venom, "Don't try to save me from my decisions. Especially if there is no chance we will ever have anything."<br>"I suppose you're right. You're old enough to make your own bloody mistakes. You are my dearest friend in Kirkwall… But I can't support you if you begin to endanger yourself by fraternizing with some Chantry zealot. Especially because that may be very well the end of me as well. You have to understand that we're apostates, Hawke, they kill people like us."

She smiles again, there is the Hawke he is falling in love with, the one that is brave and fake. A small half-hearted laugh fills the large room. "Making me choose between friendship and sex? Like there was ever contest!" He sighs, a wave of relief washing over him. "I choose the sex!" She laughs and pulls her fellow mage into a tight hug. He is surprised and doesn't return it. He pretends to not hear her whisper under her breath, "I'll do anything for you."

She lets go with a large grin on her face, stretching ear to ear. "I was serious about the sex though. Maybe I can play 'the naughty mage and the helpless recruit' or 'secret desire demon and the upstanding knight?' You sure about this ultimatum of yours? I mean—We could always play secret desire demon and the helpless mage on his harrowing. I want to see that sexy-tortured look again."  
><em>Ugh, she heard when I was talking to Aveline. <em>His eyes widen, but he forces them shut and makes a motion towards the door_. _"Hawke, leave. Please." He blushes as he hears that horrendous witch cackle of hers.  
>"I'll stop by tomorrow to tell you all about Ser-Whatever-his-name-is!"<br>"Hawke! You aren't really going to sleep with him are you?"  
>"Are you going to whisk me away again?"<br>"If I have to."  
>"Stop getting my hopes up. I'll end up making up all sorts of nasty scenarios in my head." With a wink she left. Her hips swaying like a pendulum. Her hair blowing perfectly from the breeze blowing from carved windows. And as she walked away he could see the stares she was given. The way she shamelessly flirted in return.<p>

"This is ridiculous..! I-I need to _lie down_."


	2. Bitter Tastes

I knew that I wanted to write a oneshot that relates somewhat to my other oneshot We're Already Over.  
>It was an event mentioned briefly. I don't want to say any more though.<br>Takes place inbetween Act II and III. Enjoy :)

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><p>The doors to the Hanged Man flung open. As usual no one bothered to look up from what they were doing. The sober (the few that they were) were getting drunk, and the drunk were getting drunker. All on alcohol that smelled and apparently tasted like dirt and water with a sting. Anders made his way through the tavern, circling the tables, looking for any sign of long black hair and sapphire eyes. "Blondie!" He turned around to see a familiar dwarf making his way down the stairs. The usual grin was painted across Varric's face as he spoke to the mage, "Little late to the party, don't you think?" The dwarf turned around, leading Anders back to his room on the second floor. The stench of hard liquor filled the air. Anders scanned the room; there was not a mug in sight, no spills, no alcohol. He looked at the dwarf with a raised brow, "What is that smell..?"<p>

Varric returned the look, almost in disbelief Anders hadn't identified the cause. "Check the bed," Varric instructed simply. He chose to lean against the door frame as Anders turned the corner to the area that housed his bed. Anders stared at the sight before him. There were still no empty mugs or bottles, just a figure curled into a ball lying on a bed that was clearly too small. The mop of black hair was all too familiar, as was the red silk finery. The mage stumble back surprised that to find his love reeking of cheap drinks; his eyes darted across the room, seeking out his dwarven friend. "By the Maker! How much did she drink?" To his dismay the dwarf mouthed "too many."

"She's taken a fancy to drinking again…" Anders muttered under his breath. He brushed the overgrown bangs from her face and it is one of the many times he sees her for what she is and not what she appears to be. She is defenseless and easily dispirited. Unlike Hawke, Anders never wore a front. He only knows how to show his true face, he only knows to be selfish and broken. "She's been acting strange lately. I—I'm not sure it's in her best interest to continue to involve herself with me. Varric, I can't win against Justice. Do you think… she knows this? Do you think it's the reason why she's like this now?"

Varric moved towards the bed. His hand patted the mage's back, a poor attempt to come the man down. When he was sure he had diverted the abomination's attention from Hawke and onto himself, he spoke, "Blondie, I can guarantee this has nothing to do with your spirit friend. She knew from the beginning what she was getting into when she started falling for your ass. Shit! Even if she didn't; I made sure to tell her—What? Don't give me that look, Blondie! Point is, only something that involves her would make her this upset. Now, can you get her back to Hightown and out of my room? I'd hate to see her vomit all over my things."  
>"I suppose you're right. Did she say anything?"<br>"I don't know. Norah told me to 'get the Champion's ass out of the bar' when Hawke was passed out. And might I say, finding someone sober enough to carry her up those blighted stairs was more trouble than I thought it'd be."  
>"With the people who come here I bet it was very difficult."<br>"Damn right. Do you need help getting her back home? No offense, but you're not exactly the epitome of fitness and health."

"I'm sure I'll manage, Varric."

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><p>The walk home was a struggle. He is no warrior and his body is ill taken care of, it is evident he is no longer in his prime. His lean figure trembles as they tread the many stairs that define Kirkwall's architecture. She is heavy, like his heart as he continues to blame himself. He wishes she'd wake, so he can tell her that everything will be alright. He'd apologize for reasons unknown. But he knows when she wakes and he asks for the cause of her recent alcoholic endeavors, she will look sad and tell him something he does not want to hear. She stirs slightly and mumbles a name that is not his. He can feel the smile that forms on her face as she is pressed against his back. His mind wanders. She is a vixen, and though his thoughts are ill advised, he finds himself in constant wonder if he will one day come home from the clinic and find her in bed with another man.<p>

Before he realizes it, there is a familiar crest staring him blatantly in the face. He fumbles about, trying to keep Daria safe and open the door. As he enters the estate he is greeted by Bodahn and Sandal. He tries to assure them that the situation is under his control and proceeds to their bedroom. As he lays her down, a lump forms in his throat. A rage is building; the thoughts of infidelity continue to plague his mind. Brown eyes, dead and hollow, look over her figure. She is small and soft in comparison to him. She appears so frail, like a fancy Orlesian doll. He could kill her now if he truly wanted; he isn't sure anymore, the sides of any two thoughts have become blurred and obstructed. But he could think of far too few things worse than her death. So he takes in deep breaths, anything to calm down. He finds his composure once again and knows that his love for her is deep.

He calls for Bodahn to fetch a bucket or bin of some sort, a pitcher of water and a glass. He searches drawers and chest and finally the armoire (where he realizes would have been the smartest place to check first) for something to change Daria in to. He clutches the silk nightgown in his hands. He has seen that body many times, and every time he still feels some sort of nerves.

She wakes as he slips the fine fabric over her head. She clutches her mouth and her eyes water. Immediately, he reaches for the bin and holds it too her face. The sound of vomiting is never pleasant. He has seen childbirth and rabid infections. There was nothing quite like the sound of pain and regret to make him cringe. She was still too drunk to be holding her head in pain. After a glass of water and much fussing around, she fell into a deep sleep once again. He took his spot on the other side of the bed. Nights were the most difficult times to control _himself_. Sometimes his skin would crack open and no blood would seep to tell him he's still human. And anger would taint even the purist thoughts, even the simplest things could set him off an edge. He sat, head in his hands, on the edge of the mattress._ Losing to Vengeance will never be an option._

The next day had come and gone before he even noticed. Anders had moved from the bedroom to the study after Hawke's awakening (which was horrid for everyone in the estate.) And now in the night he simply sat in the dark, still trying to determine whether or not the name Daria muttered meant anything. "Anders," he could hear Daria's voice echo throughout the house. "We… I want to talk to you about something."He was hesitant to stand and leave the sanctity of the desk he currently occupied. His gaze shifts nervously around the room as the sound of her clicking heels grows louder with each step. He makes an effort to rise but sits at the sight of her silhouette in the doorway. "There you are! Andraste's flaming sword, did you not hear me calling?" She is beaming for one reason or another, the hangover had subsided, and her façade is well in place.

He smiled half-heartedly and let out a small chuckle. "I was just about to find you, my dear."  
>"Oh…" She was nervous about something, in turn, making Anders exceptionally nervous as well. Their eyes didn't meet for what felt like an eternity.<p>

"Anders-"  
>"Daria-"<br>They both started and finished with each other's name. There was tension that hadn't formed in some time. Anders ushered Daria to continue. She took the cue and sat on the desk Anders stared vacantly at for the past few hours. He could hear her heart ready to jump out of her chest, or was that his? He wasn't sure. There was a part of him that enjoyed seeing her so nervous and scared. It let him know she was still man and not the god Varric has depicted in his stories. He could feel the inner resentment towards her begin to rise. _He loves her so much, how could she possibly have an affair._ _And she has become everything he has longed to be. Maker, do not let that image of her be ruined._

She opened her mouth to speak, "I had the most wonderful dream..!" Her speech is slow and dazed, as if she is living it now. "There were flowers everywhere and the most adorable little house. And…" The raven haired woman is hesitant to speak anymore. He is expecting his world to come crashing down. He is expecting her to say, _"And I was living there with a magnificent man that wasn't you!" _or something more detestable. But to his surprise that never happened. "We lived there… with a son and daughter. Their names were…" He stopped paying attention sometime after that. He felt like an idiot for ever thinking she have an affair. But were these dreams the cause of her rec—he is brought back to reality by her hand waving in his face. "Anders!" she calls his name and he looks up quickly.

She is nervous once again and that bright smile she had entered the room with had passed. She looks at him with sad eyes. "I want to have children… Do you?" she asked. He thought his jaw had become unhinged and dropped somewhere in the Deep Roads. He couldn't help but ask, "Is that why you've been acting so strange? You've been thinking about this?" Daria let out a soft sigh of disappointment, believing it was foolish to believe he'd be anywhere as enthusiastic about the idea as she was. But to answer him she simply nodded, "I've been thinking about children a lot. Do you want to have any?"

He doesn't know what to say. His heart is pounding and he feels like he could be struck by lightning and it wouldn't be nearly as difficult to live through as this. So he stands and puts his arms around her, pulling her close and holding her tightly. And she knows what his answer is, but he still speaks it, in kind words that hurt more than just saying no, "I-I don't think it's appropriate to have a child right now, my love." He can feel her head move up; her chin rest on his shoulder, there is a dampness forming on his shirt. She is crying and he is the cause. He brings her closer but she quickly pulls away and wipes her eyes. The look she gives is more painful than any wound that has ever been afflicted to his body. She is trembling and her sapphire eyes are searching for anything to sooth the pain. But she is a self saboteur and asks, "Why?"

He is once again in a difficult position. "I… don't think it's entirely possible to have a child, Daria." He is telling the truth, for his own benefit, but nonetheless it is the truth. She has never asked about Grey Wardens, she knows simply he has nightmares at times and that he will eventually die. _It is ignorance on her part._ He tells himself, hoping he'll be convinced at some point that that is the truth. He stares at her with the same dead, hollow, brown eyes. And once again tears are welling up in her eyes. She tries to speak but she is riddled with hiccups and gasps. Finally she is able to form a coherent sentence, "I'm almost thirty." She tries to say so simply. But they both know what she is implying, but she asks for conformation, "A-am I unable to have children?" Her voice raises, "Am I infertile..?"

"What?" he asks incredulously. These days were full of surprises. He suspected she would drop the matter and leave in a fit, not blame herself. "N-no! That's not it, Daria!"

"Then what is it?" She is yelling, a wreck of unstable emotions. He knows this is the real her, selfish and easily hurt.

He tries to speak softly. Maybe she'd follow suit and calm down as well. "It's the taint Daria."  
>"The taint? That Grey Warden thing..?"<br>"Yeah. Because of the blood running in my veins… We will probably never have children."  
>She is silent for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me?" Hurt and confusion. That's all he can hear, not her beautiful voice.<br>"I didn't think it would matter." He speaks the truth again, knowing it will hurt, but is needed.  
>"You never wanted children..?"<br>"Maybe before, but we can't… And our child would almost undoubtedly be born a mage; we can't allow them to live in a world where there is such injustice!"

She steps back again, "Injustice..? I thought your mage plight was over with! Does this have anything to even do with children or family anymore? It's been two years since the Qunari attack! If something were to happen, it would have! We are at a time of peace now, Anders. Please… I love you. Let's just stop this nonsense and start a family… We won't always have the chance."

"We don't have a chance, Daria." He reached out and gripped her shoulders. The rage is present. He knows he cannot win against Justice or Vengeance or whatever spirit inhabited him. He knows he doesn't want to fight it anymore. The mage's plight will be more important than starting a family could ever be. "The taint makes it impossible. Look at the King and Queen of Fereldan. Both are Grey Wardens. It's been years! They have no heir. Stop hoping for something to happen."

Her tears fall freely; she is no longer struggling to keep her composure. Her knees grow weak and he catches her as she falls. They sit on the floor, her face buried in his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck. She is weeping, "I want a normal life." And he is whispering, "I know" and "I'm sorry," into her ear. And only more tears flow after he says, "We'll make a world where mages can be free to love and have children without fear." He forces her to face him, to stare into his eyes. And she sees they are no longer dead, they are once again set ablaze with passion. She can only cry more. And he kisses her cheek, taking in the tears the fall from her sapphire eyes. They taste like anguish. And anguish has always been bitter.

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><p>I was hoping everyone would start reading and believing the Hawke I depicted was a whore who was sleeping around with some random person.<br>I hope I managed. xD I also wanted to introduce how I think Anders would fall back into the "MAGE FREEDOOOMMM" thing again.


End file.
